


all you have is your fire

by Some_Dead_Guy



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Child Abuse, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kid Fic, M/M, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:46:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23310361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Some_Dead_Guy/pseuds/Some_Dead_Guy
Summary: Jack fell in love with a boy that had hair as dark as a raven’s wing and eyes as light as a frozen lake.Or, how Jack and Bruce grew up with each other, and fell in love in their own, fucked up way.
Relationships: Joker (DCU)/Batman, Joker (DCU)/Bruce Wayne, Pamela Isley/Harleen Quinzel
Comments: 22
Kudos: 107





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is essentially a rewrite of an old fic that I had posted, decided I hated, and then deleted. 
> 
> I hope this version is at least a little better because I really want to write for this ship but it’s actually really hard. I hope this is at least somewhat enjoyable anyway lmao.
> 
> And there is violence in this fic! It’s not terribly explicit, but just a heads up!

Jack fell in love with a boy that had hair as dark as a raven’s wing and eyes as light as a frozen lake.

His seven-year-old mind couldn’t come up with the correct words to fully express how he felt for the other boy so he simply called it love. He remembers his ma using that word,  _ love. _ She would say it when she whispered to him at night, combing her long, spindly fingers through his hair as Jack drifted off to sleep. She’d say she loves pa, too, even if her eyes would fill with tears and half of her face was a swollen, puffy, black and blue.

His smile was bright, eyes so wide with unbridled wonder, and he was tall and smart and oh so  _ happy _ . Jack didn’t know someone could be so happy, not here, not in Gotham. Gotham was his home, Jack couldn’t imagine a life outside of her rotting streets, but he was still so surprised to see someone so bright in a place that was crawling with darkness and decay.

His name was Bruce Wayne and he was so pretty in Jack’s eyes that his heart stuttered every time he saw him.

Bruce was the only kid who talked to him and it made Jack’s heart swell each time he heard his voice. Bruce speaking with him didn’t stop everyone else from jeering at him, though, making fun of his gangly limbs and his smile that stretched a bit too wide to be considered normal. But Jack learned to ignore everyone else because Bruce was the only one who actually  _ mattered. _ In this dingy little school, with all these stupid little people, the only person who mattered was  _ Bruce  _ and his  _ smile _ .

Jack thought that Bruce would always smile at him.

Until Bruce didn’t smile at all.

Bruce missed a week of school and Jack was so worried he almost went to Wayne Manor to personally ask after Bruce himself. He didn’t though, because he thought it was rude to show up uninvited. His parents wouldn’t likely be terribly pleased about the idea either, Jack being around someone like Bruce.

But when Bruce finally did come back to school he was pale, eyes sunken in and glazed over, mouth curled down in a permanent frown and he would slouch forward, like some invisible force was constantly pushing down onto his shoulders. He looked tired, sad, hollow, and he didn’t talk to Jack anymore. He didn’t talk to anyone anymore. He was completely silent, in a way that Bruce never was before.

Jack didn’t know what had happened and he knew he couldn’t ask the other students, knowing that it was unlikely he’d ever get an actual answer outside of mocking snickering. Jack felt like he was left out of a joke that everyone else got, and even if Jack should be used to it at this point, he  _ hated _ being left out.

He decided he should talk to Bruce first.

“Hey, Brucie.” He said as he slid into a seat next to Bruce, and Jack’s eyes flickered down to Bruce’s untouched food. He tried not to worry too much about how much he was eating. Bruce had gotten noticeably thinner, his pale skin pulling over cheeks that weren’t that hollow just over a week ago.

Bruce looked at him with those icy eyes that once held so much life. He didn’t say anything though, just stared at Jack expectantly.

“What’s wrong?” Jack asked, a genuine sort of concern that Jack was unused to feeling unfurling in his chest.

Bruce hesitated, seeming as if a million thoughts were going through his head at once before he finally slouched in on himself even further than usual and heaved a heavy sigh. 

“My-” his voice cracked and he tried to cover it up with a cough, “My parents were-” another pause, he swallowed hard, his eyes wet with unshed tears, “They were shot.”

Jack frowned, a sort of confusion overtaking him that he was sure was supposed to be concern, or maybe some sort of sympathy. But he only felt as if it was such a little thing to be upset about, dead parents that is. Jack tried to imagine his parents dying, then tried to imagine how he would feel about it. He felt a small twinge in his stomach, but not much else. 

His father dying would most certainly never bring Jack any sort of ill, in fact he’s sure he’d have a magnificent time baking a celebration cake as he danced over his father’s lifeless body. His mother, though, he’d feel a bit more sadness, but really he isn’t sure his mother wants to be alive herself most days. She hasn’t been much more than a ghost these past few years.

“People become so upset over the littlest things.” Jack mumbled to himself but Bruce had obviously heard him.

Jack didn’t have time to truly analyze the expression that overtook Bruce’s face then, because the boy was throwing him to the ground in seconds. Jack’s head cracked against the floor before he felt Bruce’s fist connect with his face, so much smaller and weaker than that of his father’s, but with just as much anger behind it and Jack couldn’t help but giggle at the thought. Bruce didn’t stop, his soft face morphing with his rage, and Jack’s giggles escalated into high pitched cackling even though he felt his nose begin to overflow with blood. Jack felt the blood flood his mouth, but he couldn’t stop laughing, almost choking on the liquid as a teacher pulled Bruce off of him.

Bruce was screaming, struggling to get out of the woman’s grip and Jack watched through watery eyes as his body continued to shake with laughter, laughter he couldn’t get to stop. No one dared approached him, and Jack hardly noticed the horrified looks of the other students, nor the wide-eyed looks of teachers who didn’t know what to do because all he could see was  _ Bruce _ .

Bruce with his raven hair and his icy eyes, and his face twisted in rage as he spat and yelled and he was  _ beautiful.  _ Bruce’s smile was nothing compared to  _ this _ , all that anger and malice spilling out onto his perfect face.

Jack didn’t stop cackling until Bruce was pulled out of the cafeteria and there were teachers urging him up off the ground. 

  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

Jack ended up outside the principal's office with a bloody nose and a busted lip, still giggling and gurgling on his own blood. The principal (a fat man with bushy eyebrows and sweat-stained shirts) didn’t bother with him too much, this is Gotham, after all. He was let off with no more than a slap to the wrists and no one even talked with Bruce, who was taken to the nurse even when he wasn’t the one hurt, and Jack couldn’t stop himself from thinking about Bruce’s pretty face screwed up in anger.

———

Their relationship completely changed after that, and Bruce didn’t smile at Jack anymore but instead hit him so hard that he could break his nose. Bruce and Jack hardly had any real conversations after that, not like they used to, but instead Jack would say something provoking and Bruce would growl and Jack would giggle and they’d both end up with bruised knuckles and blood on their face. It was _fun_ because Bruce was so easy to anger, and he was so _pretty_ each time he ended up with a bruise and Jack's blood spit up onto his face. 

And time and time again, year after year, Jack was sent to the Principal and Bruce to the nurse and the Principal (who was still fat and sweaty) half-heartedly scolded Jack, who was a teenager by that point and had become even taller, thinner, and paler as time went by.

Jack thought it would go on like that forever.

Like when he thought Bruce would always smile at him, but like then things changed.

Bruce didn’t fight with Jack anymore.

Bruce had met a girl. A girl with dark green eyes and dark lipstick and dark hair. Her name was Selina Kyle. Jack didn’t think much of it, knowing Bruce would choose their little dances over some random girl.

He was wrong and when he said something about the  _ toy  _ hanging off his arm in the school courtyard, Selina scowled at him but turned to Bruce and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“He’s not worth it.” Bruce glared at Jack before nodding at Selina, ignoring him.

They walked away, Bruce  _ ignored  _ him, and Jack stood there for longer than he needed to, staring off into space.

Bruce stopped giving attention to Jack after that, until he eventually began to ignore him completely and Jack found himself becoming desperate. Jack became more restless and his chest tightened painfully when he saw Bruce put his arm around Selina. 

Jack thought it should have been obvious Bruce would eventually find someone better than him.

Then there was Harley. She had moved to Gotham in the middle of eleventh grade, and she wore her hair in pigtails with dark makeup and leather, her eyes a bright baby blue. Jack didn’t love her like he loved Bruce but at least she actually talked to him. When Harley talked to him with a sugary sweet voice and a bright smile it felt similar to how his seven-year-old-self felt when Bruce first spoke to him, just far less extreme. Harley was kind and soft in places Bruce never was, and she was the one who convinced him to dye his hair green. They had done it in the school bathroom, and Jack’s pa didn’t even care enough to beat him over it.

But he wanted to resort to violence, to hit someone, but he couldn't hit Harley. Not when she was so nice, and not when the one he really wanted to get in a scuffle with was  _ Bruce. _

Jack often found himself sitting in his room, staring out his window and wishing it was Bruce giving him all this attention instead of her.

But Harley was who he had, and she was sweet and easy to talk to and Jack felt lighter than he had in a long time. He felt so much better when Bruce looked at them with so much jealousy it was palpable even from across the lunch room, his fists balling up and his jaw noticeably clenching.

He liked Harley but making Bruce look so envious and angry made him want to keep her even closer than before. It was a selfish thought, one that Harley probably didn’t deserve, but Jack had never claimed to be selfless or much less  _ good _ .

Jack hoped Bruce would confess his love to him, because that's what happened in the movies, right? But Bruce didn't say anything, only kept closer to  _ Selina _ .

Harley eventually noticed, and Jack told her about Bruce with an enthusiasm he couldn’t stop from overtaking him. He told her about 2nd grade and 3rd and 4th and so on. He told her of every fight, every visit to the principal's office, and she listened intently and Jack felt better at the end of all of it. 

“Puddin’” She starts, “Sounds like you’ve got a really complicated thing going for ya.”

She rubbed her chin then, sticking her tongue out in an exaggerated show of her thinking. Her eyes lit up after a few moments, and she stuck her finger out at Jack.

“Get him a gift! Everyone loves gifts, and it might smooth things over, ya know?”

Jack thought Harley was brilliant.

Jack went home that night and grabbed what money he could find around the house, being careful not to wake his parents. He snuck out at around nine o’clock and hoped that a store with acceptable gifts would be open this late. Jack was going to get something that would explode in Bruce's face but Harley said that something like that wasn't very romantic. 

Harley also said their dances weren't healthy, despite her initial enthusiasm in helping him out with his relationship with Bruce. Even though Jack loved what he had with Bruce, he tried to believe Harley. She was going to be a psychiatrist, she had said, so Jack told himself he should trust her judgment. There are far unhealthier relationships in Gotham, though, (like his parents) because this  _ is _ Gotham, with it’s polluted air, dirty alleys, and criminals crawling the streets. 

But he tried to do what Harley suggested. She said that her lover (a girl with red hair and forest green eyes) would buy her little toys and cute cards and send them through the mail. So Jack walked into a dollar store and looked for just that. He shuffled through small stuffed toys that were lined up on the shelves, some were keychains, and some held hearts in their tiny stuffed paws, others had round, sparkly eyes. 

Most of them were bears, and he almost walked away from the small shelf before he saw a stuffed bat. Jack knew that Bruce hated bats, he remembered when they were younger, how Bruce would say that bats were scary and ugly. Jack disagreed but had laughed and nodded at what he said anyway.

Jack smiled gently and ran his fingers over the soft toy.

He grabbed the bat, deeming it an acceptable gift, and walked over to the cards. His eyes immediately landed on a card with a purple heart on it. He picked it off the shelf and opened it. On the inside, it read 'Roses are red, violets are blue, I love you, do you love me too?’ Jack thought it was cheesy and mediocre but he decided to buy it anyway. Bruce would hopefully appreciate the thought, Jack found it amusing at least.

Jack handed the items to the bored looking cashier, the man mumbling the price. Jack gave him the money and walked out of the store into the cool Gotham air. The air smelled of smoke and it was starting to get dark outside, and Jack thought it was perfect. 

Jack thought it would be logical to just wait until tomorrow to give Bruce the gifts at school, but what would be fun about that? Against his better judgment, Jack decided to walk to Wayne Manor.

It was cold and Jack’s teeth chattered against eachother, but he was sure it would be worth it anyway.

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

Jack knows it’s late and that he’ll have hell if his parents are awake when he gets home but he wants to see Bruce as soon as possible. He’s hardly had the chance to interact with Bruce over the last few months and he’s getting impatient. He wonders if Bruce would appreciate his company.

Bruce must miss him, because what Bruce and he have is just as beneficial to Jack as it is to  _ Bruce _ , because Jack  _ knows  _ Bruce, and he knows every crack of his knuckles against Jack’s jaw is relief he’s never felt before, and not with anyone else. Bruce  _ needs  _ Jack, and that was final. No matter what Harley says, he can’t simply give what they have up, not their  _ dances, _ not with how pretty Bruce always looks when they’re over.

And Jack knows Harley wouldn’t approve of it but he really hoped Bruce would be up for a tussle, for old time’s sake at least. It may be late but Jack knows Bruce would love to blow off some steam, he always had liked taking his pent up anger out on Jack. Jack saw how stiff Bruce got, how the anger would swim in his narrow eyes, how much it seemed to  _ beg _ to be let out. And Jack was just the person to drag it out into the open. 

Though Bruce has always been much more hesitant at coming to terms with his more violent side, much more hesitant than Jack who saw embracing it as easy as breathing. But Jack knows Bruce would only need a little  _ push,  _ and provoking Bruce would likely be even easier without  _ her  _ around, and Jack felt giddy with the feeling of finally having all of Bruce’s attention to himself.

Jack tries to divert from what Harley dubbed “unromantic” and “unhealthy” thoughts and breathes in the smoky air of Gotham, going over the little things she told him that were considered healthy for a relationship. He thought some of them were ridiculous but he trusted Harley enough to at least  _ consider _ what she thought.

Jack thinks that getting Bruce away from Selina would be the hardest part. Jack knows that his feelings for her couldn't possibly be completely real, not in the way that Bruce felt for Jack. He wouldn't just throw away his and Jack's relationship that quickly. Jack saw Bruce’s eyes wander, those icy blue eyes glare at Harley when she leaned in too close. 

Selina is just a distraction, simple as that.

His pale lips lift as he makes his way through the quiet streets of Gotham, his mind stuck on the thought of getting the chance of cutting up Bruce’s little  _ distraction _ . He only feels a slight twinge of guilt at the thought, only because he knew Harley wouldn’t approve.

Jack runs his fingers over the soft bat toy instead, imagining what Bruce would think of it. Jack is sure Bruce would appreciate the gift, maybe laugh at the fact he used to hate the animal. Jack wonders if Bruce was still frightened by the rather cute creatures. Jack wouldn’t know, he hasn’t had a normal talk with the other boy in years, and he suddenly finds himself missing those moments. He doesn't even know what brought on Bruce’s fear of bats. 

Jack was so lost in his own thoughts that he was abruptly brought back to reality when cold metal bit into the skin of his back, easily felt through Jack’s thin dress shirt and vest. They were the most expensive things he owned, a simple orange button up and a dark purple waistcoat, and he could only think that he hoped they wouldn’t be damaged so he could look his best in front of his Brucie.

“Empty your pockets, don’t even think of screaming or turning around.” A gruff but young voice barks at Jack, pressing the gun into his back harder.

“Boring.” Jack huffs, tilting his head back slightly, letting it lull to the side to better express his disinterest.

“What?” The robber pulls back slightly, the gun easing off of Jack’s back.

Jack drops the stuffed bat and card, whipping around and grabbing the man’s wrist, causing him to relinquish his grip on the gun in his surprise. Young  _ and _ inexperienced and Jack could tell this is the first time he’s ever done anything like this, and Jack must have looked like an easy target. Jack laughed, pulling a switchblade out of his back pocket, far too amused by the man’s poor judgement.

“I said  _ boring _ . Empty your pockets, don’t scream blah blah  _ blah _ . Couldn’t come up with anything original?” Jack presses the blade into the man’s mouth. Jack notices that the man’s eyes were a deep brown, his hair a sandy blonde, and he chuckles. The failed robber looked hardly older than Jack, only a measly few years and yet he was still two or three inches shorter, leaving Jack to slightly tower over him.

“You should be more careful, might get yourself hurt.” Jack pulls the knife against the inside of the man’s cheek, his other hand grabbing the man’s throat. He watches as the blood already begins to bead up against the knife with a sick sort of fascination. 

“Let this teach you a little something.” Jack cuts farther into his cheek, his lips splitting into a pleased grin when the man squirms and whimpers while gasping for air, seeming to want to push against Jack but held in place by fear of making the knife cut deeper into his face.

Jack knew he should have been paying more attention, shouldn’t have became so enthralled by the blood beading up around the man’s wound before dribbling down his chin, and he became painfully aware of his mistake when he felt a fierce pain in his shoulder, the pain accompanied by a loud bang from behind him. He falls to his knees, giggles bubbling up his throat as he grasps at his gushing shoulder. He leans forward onto his elbows, his giggling escalating into uncontrollable cackling. 

He hardly notices the man rush towards who must have been the one who shot him, too busy focusing on his bleeding shoulder and the burning pain he can feel that already has his eyes watering.

He reaches for the bat toy, clutching onto it tightly as he laughs, a few stray tears dripping down his face.

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

Bruce didn’t know how his relationship with Jack got so poisoned.

Well, he did, but that didn’t mean he liked to think about it.

He remembered the first time he saw Jack. He would sit in the back of the class, bright green eyes looking anywhere else than at other students, his dull brown curls flopped over into his face. He was pale and thin, way too thin for anyone who maintained a healthy diet. He always looked tired, the skin around his eyes sunken in and a puffy looking red, and he would shift away from anyone who approached him, or so much as brushed past him.

Bruce saw how students would make fun of him, call him stupid names and trip him any chance they could. Even Bruce’s friends, Harvey and Vicky, would pick on him. Bruce remembered how he got sick of it and finally approached Jack.

Jack was strange but in a good way, Bruce thought. He would ramble on to Bruce about whatever popped into his head and he had a specific interest in different types of knives and he could tell Bruce the weakest points in a human body, but he was so much more interesting than Harvey or Vicky. They seemed painfully average compared to him, pale in comparison to Jack who was bursting with a sort of personality that couldn’t be completely contained despite his gaunt appearance. Bruce loved to be around Jack and he thought they’d be friends for the rest of their lives. 

Then his parents died.

Bruce never thought something such as that could ever happen to him. For a while, he thought everything about his life was near perfect. He should’ve known that everything would come crashing down at one point. This is Gotham, how many people  _ truly _ lead happy lives?

The way everyone treated him was worse. Family members he never met acted as if they had known him for years, trying to comfort him with empty words. When he finally went back to school teachers acted as if he would break, offering to let him go home or telling him he could have extra time to finish assignments. Some students offered him half-hearted condolences and his friends acted condescendingly gentle. It made Bruce  _ sick _ .

Then Jack approached him. He was the first person to seem to genuinely care, and even if Bruce was surprised Jack hadn’t already read everything that had happened in some newspaper or other, Bruce told him what happened. Bruce had expected an “I’m sorry”, like everyone else says, but Jack was never normal, now was he? 

Instead, Jack had mumbled a crude comment about how he thought his parents dying was a  _ little thing  _ and Bruce could only see red after that. He probably shouldn’t have been so angry, shouldn’t have hit Jack but he couldn’t think straight, couldn’t think over all the anger he could feel bubbling up in him. Maybe Bruce wasn’t even that angry at Jack but just angry in general and Jack was the closest target, an easy one.

He got angrier when the other boy laughed, a horrendous choking noise that just made Bruce hit him harder. When a teacher pulled Bruce off of him he only seemed to laugh harder, his thin body rattling with the force of it. Bruce tried to jerk from the teacher’s grip but she pulled him out of the cafeteria, the sound of Jack’s laughter stuck on replay in his ears.

He ended up in the nurse’s office even though he wasn’t the one injured. He knew Jack wasn’t going to get any sort of medical attention and that was when the guilt started to settle in. He knew what he did was wrong but he had enjoyed it, and Jack probably did too. 

When Alfred silently drove Bruce home he felt nauseous, his vision swimming as he stared at the expensive leather of the back of Alfred’s seat. Not only did he hit a kid who he had genuinely considered a friend, he had  _ enjoyed  _ it. 

The next day Bruce planned on apologizing to Jack but he  _ smiled  _ at Bruce and he knew that there was no reason to apologize, knew that Jack wouldn’t take one.

It was the beginning of a vicious and unhealthy cycle.

———

“I’ll be right back, I promise.” Bruce says, for what feels like the hundredth time that evening. Alfred still looks at him with a tepid sort of hesitation, but eventually sighs. It was a deep, weary one. Bruce feels a twinge of guilt at the sound.

“Okay, master Bruce. Just, don’t be long, yes?” Alfred says, and Bruce knows he doesn't agree but Bruce needs  _ out _ . He needs to walk out into Gotham’s streets, feel the chilly air as it burns his lungs, see her decrepit streets and finally get a chance to  _ think _ .

“Of course, Alfred.” And Bruce musters up a smile that feels three parts genuine, and Alfred smiles back. 

And then Bruce is walking out of the manor, heaving a deep breath of Gotham’s cold, crisp air as soon as he is out. Wayne Manor is so huge, filled with infinite space, and yet still managed to be so  _ stifling _ . Like the life his parents left behind was still hanging in the air, stuck in the manor’s walls, clinging to the floors, and Bruce felt like the place would feel haunted to him for the rest of his life.

He shakes his head at the reminder of his parents, as if he could somehow dispel the thoughts from his mind with the motion.

He picks a random path and simply walks aimlessly, looking at trees, at buildings, anything to distract himself. He spots a mannequin in a store window clad in a dark purple suit and his thoughts unwillingly center around Jack.

He doesn’t want to think about Jack, but once he starts he can’t stop.  _ Jack _ , Bruce doesn't even know what he thought of Jack Napier anymore. He was a friend, at first, then along the way he turned into a glorified punching bag, and now he hasn’t spoken to Jack since 11th grade and they’ll be graduating in a few months. 

But he still thinks about him, a  _ lot _ , more than he should. And he misses him, and that fact pisses him off because he  _ knows  _ the shit Jack and him used to do was not good. Bruce knows that taking his anger out on Jack was never good, even before Selina began to intervene, but he had  _ enjoyed  _ it, and it had felt  _ good. _ And Jack never did anything to put a stop to it, he encouraged it even, constantly provoking Bruce and then laughing like a gleeful child when Bruce eventually gave in to him.

There had been a therapist, at first. Alfred had suggested it when Bruce had first punched Jack all those years ago in the cafeteria. Alfred had encouraged it even before then, but did not force it on Bruce in fear of upsetting him, so soon after he lost his parents, but him hurting another child seemed to be incentive enough for Alfred to insist on it. 

And Bruce had hated it.

He knew that the woman was there to help, that she was simply doing her job, but he would go to therapy and all it did was upset him and make him cry himself dry for an hour. But when he went to school and hit Jack it was so much  _ easier. _ It was simple, the rush of blood and adrenaline, and even though Bruce knew he would feel horrible for it later it was so  _ simple,  _ so  _ easy  _ and Jack never said no, and even if Jack would fight back he would laugh and egg Bruce on.

(Bruce had stopped going to therapy only a few months after starting, begging Alfred to take him out. Alfred agreed, begrudgingly, but eventually gave into Bruce’s wishes).

Now, just past the age of eighteen, on the brink of graduating, Bruce knew that it couldn’t continue. He wishes the school had done better, better at stopping what he and Jack were doing instead of just letting it slide. Bruce was rich, a public figure, and he knew they would never do anything to him, but he wished they had because he had been beating the shit out of another student for  _ years  _ and no one had so much as slapped his wrist for it. 

Except for Alfred and Selina, that is. 

Alfred never approved, but after that first time, Alfred hardly even heard of anymore fights, the only way he found out is if Jack landed a hit to Bruce’s face. And Bruce should have told Alfred more, but he never did, only kept giving into his anger, giving Jack what he wanted. Alfred would have stopped it, Bruce knew he would’ve, and Bruce didn’t want to think of the fact that he didn’t want him to.

And now there’s Selina, who was there to witness it. She had seen him hit Jack, knock him right across the face so hard that he had stumbled backwards. After that, she made him stop. She didn’t like Jack, didn’t tell Bruce to stop out of the goodness of her own heart, but it was  _ something _ .

“ _ Whatever you have with that freak is unhealthy, why don’t you get an  _ actual  _ punching bag with all that money you have. _ ” She had said, and Bruce had seen the warning in her eyes. 

He had been convinced to stop, after that. It took more effort than he liked to admit, but Selina, even with all her bite and her own brand of anger, made it easier to stop. Bruce supposes he had been looking for a reason to finally put an end to what it was that he had with Jack.

But he still misses him, and he hates himself less for it than he’d like to. Bruce found himself thinking of Jack a lot, about his bright green eyes and his wide smile and the feeling of his bones grinding under his fist. And thinking of Jack made him also think about  _ Harley. _

And, honestly, Bruce had nothing against Harley, nothing personal at least, but he was so jealous of her sometimes that he would glare at them from across the classroom as she leaned in so close to Jack that half the time their noses almost touched. 

Bruce probably doesn’t have any business being jealous of Harley, especially since Bruce was the one who first started ignoring Jack, but that doesn’t stop the red hot jealousy he felt in his chest every time he saw them together. He isn’t even sure what he’s jealous of, he hasn’t had a real conversation with Jack since they were young children, and he can hardly even remember what that feels like. 

And Bruce doesn’t feel the need to knock Jack’s light out half as often now, since he started therapy again after both Alfred’s  _ and _ Selina’s encouragement this time. And it’s working better, this time around, Bruce thought. Less crying, a lot more working out his anger issues. So, he isn’t jealous he isn’t beating up on Jack anymore, at least he likes to think he doesn’t miss that. 

So, he’s stuck with this pit of jealousy in his gut, but has no idea what it is he wants.

(He has an inkling, in the back of his mind, knows  _ exactly  _ what he wants but he doesn’t want to think of that or the images it brings along with it).

And that’s when he hears a gunshot.

Not long after he hears the sound of a familiar bout of giggles, giggles that were interrupted with the just as familiar sound of gurgling of blood and he instinctively follows the sounds without thinking twice.

And then he sees Jack, a gunshot wound in the back of his shoulder while the boy kneels on the ground grasping at it. And there is a man standing over him, gun pointed at Jack’s head. The man beside him is grasping at his arm, talking as he does so.

“No one was supposed to get hurt!” The man hisses, trying and failing to get his supposed partner to lower his weapon. 

Bruce stays in the shadows of the alleyway, evaluating his options. He can call the police, but they can shoot Jack before they even get here, or they could hear Bruce first and then Jack would end up shot and consequently Bruce would too.

Bruce bites at his lip, hard enough that he tastes blood, and he suddenly feels like he was back on that night with his parents. He’s stepping out of the alleyway before he can stop himself.

“Hey!” Bruce shouts, having no idea what he is supposed to do or say other than he needs the attention shifted away from Jack and instead towards himself. The men’s heads snap towards him, and Bruce is glad that Jack is still aware enough of his surroundings that he looks up too.

Bruce holds up his hands in a show of peace, shifting his weight back and forth anxiously, “I’ve already called the police-” He starts, already praying that they don’t notice that he’s lying when the unarmed man gasps.

“That’s Bruce Wayne!” He nearly shouts, slapping his partner’s arm.

The man holding the gun looks Bruce over again before sneering, “I should just kill you both, then. Before they get here.”

“No!” Bruce says, swallowing nervously, “I’m  _ Bruce Wayne,  _ I could get you money. That’s what you want, right?” Bruce guesses, considering that the other man didn’t actually expect violence, considering he was apparently angry. And Jack is dressed uncharacteristically in a pristine vest and button up, well, pristine other than the spreading blood stain across the back of the fabric.

So, they must have thought that Jack had money, expected him to be an easy target, and then things got wiry when Jack fought back. 

The man frowns even harder, but at least he’s considering it, and that’s all Bruce needs, to stall time. Because he had an idea, a half formed one that he doesn’t know will actually work, but if he got shot and went to whatever place is after this life, he got brownie points for at least  _ trying  _ to help Jack.

“He needs to get to a hospital.” Bruce says, tilting his head towards Jack, who is panting out little whimpers mixed with weak giggles. 

“Aw, Brucie, didn’t know you  _ cared _ . It doesn’t even hurt  _ that _ bad, darling.” Jack speaks for the first since Bruce got there, but his words were punctuated by punched out gasping noises that don’t really support his argument.

Bruce sighs before slowly reaching for the inside of his jacket, letting the men watch his every move, and he pulls out his wallet. “One of you could come get the money and then you can leave with it. I’ll get him to the hospital and we won’t even tell anyone, I swear. I’ll tell the police it was a stupid joke and they’ll never even know you were here.” Bruce lies through his teeth.

The armed man snorts, “You won’t tell anyone?” He mocks, “Why shouldn’t I kill you and take everything for myself?”

“Because murder is a lot worse than a robbery, and I’m a  _ Wayne _ . They’d work even harder at catching you.” Bruce reasons, holding out his wallet as a sort of invitation hoping that one of them will come and try and take it.

“I won’t tell anyone, I promise, all I care about is that he’s brought to a hospital.” Bruce repeats, hoping that they’ll fall for it, will just come a bit  _ closer _ . They don’t seem to be the brightest, and Bruce is counting on that being a correct assumption.

“You can keep the gun on him, just send your friend over. I won’t try anything.” Bruce holds the wallet out even further, and he looks down at Jack, who stares right back at him with toxic green eyes that were somehow still completely coherent. There’s a gun and a switchblade on the ground to Jack’s right, two easily accessible weapons for him, the men so focused on Jack and Bruce that they don’t even think to kick them away. 

If Bruce can make it so there's only one man over there Jack should be able to take him out, or Bruce  _ hopes _ he can, and they’ll both be too focused on Bruce to think of Jack as a threat. At least, Bruce hopes that’ll be the case.

The armed man stares at Bruce for a moment more, his younger partner shifting nervously next to him, before he finally concedes. “Get the wallet, and then we leave.” He doesn’t look like he means it, and Bruce knows that once they get a hold of the wallet he’ll shoot Jack and him both, Bruce just has to make sure that doesn’t happen.

The man next to him nods, noticeably gulps and then approaches Bruce with a sort of timidness that wouldn’t be found in a cold-blooded killer, and that’s when Bruce noticed the wound on the man’s mouth that he didn’t notice before due to the dim lighting and distance. It was a slice at the corner of his mouth, and that must have been Jack’s doing. Bruce is strangely proud of him for it.

The only reason the man isn’t doubled over holding his face in agony is the adrenaline, and even still the man’s eyes are shiny with unshed tears that must be caused by the pain paired with what seems like a natural sort of nervousness.

The man reaches for the wallet, and that’s when Bruce strikes. He drops his wallet and grabs the outreached arm, then he tugs the man forward, using the momentum to land a punch to the man’s face. It isn’t enough to knock him out but it is enough for him to cry out and stumble backwards onto his ass.

And then Bruce hears the other man cry out, and Bruce looks up to see his gun knocked to the ground and grasping a knife wound in his thigh. Jack is smiling, and he stabs the man again, this time in the shoulder. The man is on the ground now, Jack towering over him, looking like some sort of bogeyman with blood smeared across his face and his pale skin reflecting the light of the streetlamps around them.

Bruce looks away before he becomes too distracted and grabs the younger man by the shirt and hauls him forward, hitting him hard enough he passes out this time. There is another scream, and Bruce looks up to find Jack twisting his blade into the man’s other thigh, seeming unworried about the fact he’s straining his injured shoulder.

“Jack!” Bruce shouts, pulling Jack off of the man perhaps harder than he needs to.

Jack stumbles with the motion, letting go of his switchblade in the process, leaving it in the writhing man on the ground. He passes out only a moment later, something Bruce is grateful for.

Jack tsks harshly, “I  _ was _ having fun, Brucie.” Jack frowns, looking up at Bruce, but then he smiles, sharp and full of teeth, “You could’ve just waited for your turn, but I can  _ always _ make an exception for  _ you _ , darling.”

Bruce frowns, ignoring Jack’s comment, “You need to get to the hospital.” Bruce says, pulling out his phone. He needs to call the police, and an ambulance, and then explain the absolute shit show that his evening has been. He looks back at the two men and sighs. 

He calls quickly, saying that he needs someone to come arrest two attempted robbers, rattles out the address, and asks for an ambulance. He hangs up then, no reason to stay on the call when the two men are unconscious and he is pretty sure the guy Jack stabbed wouldn’t be in any condition to fight them if he does wake up. Bruce picks both guns from the ground and throws them in some random direction anyway.

Jack watches him silently for a moment before saying, “I got you this bat.” He giggles, holding out a bloody bat toy in Bruce’s face. Bruce has the feeling he is acting far too nonchalant for someone with a gunshot wound in their shoulder, but Bruce feels like the gravity of the situation hasn’t sunk in yet either so he grabs the toy.

“A bat? Didn’t I tell you I hate bats?” Bruce says, trying to ignore the fact that the wet spots on the toy are Jack’s blood. 

“Yep. I thought it’d be funny.” Jack giggles then, “I also got you a card but it’s a, uh.” Jack looks down at the ground, where there's a glittery purple card that is soaked in blood, “Out of commision.”

There’s a ridiculously somber expression on Jack’s face, as if he’s more upset about the ruined card then about getting  _ shot. _ It shocks a surprised bout of laughter out of Bruce and Jack’s laughing too, and it’s  _ ridiculous  _ because this is the most normal conversation they’ve had in years and it’s over the bodies of two failed muggers.

But then Jack winces, and  _ yeah  _ that gunshot wound must finally be setting in now that all the excitement is done and over with.

“You should sit down.” Bruce says, gently moving Jack to sit on a stack of boxes against the wall of the alleyway.

“You’re going all soft on me, Bruce.” Jack mumbles, looking at Bruce with his surprisingly calculating eyes, and Bruce is again reminded of how intelligent Jack is. It’s strange to come back in contact with facets of Jack’s personality  _ outside  _ of the gleeful sort of look he gets when they’re fighting.

“Well, I’d rather you didn’t bleed out in an alleyway, surprising as that may be.” Bruce teases, and feels strangely gratified when Jack snorts.

“You’re life would be so boring without me, Brucie.” Jack says, looking at Bruce with a lazy sort of smile.

Before Bruce can think of a response he hears the sound of sirens approaching and he sighs, watching as cop cars and an ambulance park at the mouth of the alleyway.

“Okay Jack, we should get you to a medic .” Bruce says, turning towards Jack to see him gnawing on his lip.

“What’s wrong?” Bruce asks, and Jack looks at him with a clenched jaw.

“What the fuck am I going to tell my parents?” Jack hisses, “They can’t fucking pay for my hospital bills.”

Bruce's eyes widen fractionally, not even thinking about the worry of money before, though he is a bit disturbed at the fact that Jack thought that his parents cared more about money than his safety. He tucks the thought away for future reference.

“I’ll pay for it.” Bruce says, and Jack looks at him suspiciously.

“What do you want back for it?” He demands, and Bruce feels like they were wasting time as cops flooded the alleyway, surprised to see Bruce Wayne in such a place, when they could be getting Jack to an ambulance to deal with the fact that he is  _ soaked  _ in blood but seems to hardly notice it.

“We’ll discuss it when you’re not bleeding.” Bruce sighs, confident that Jack wouldn’t take the answer,  _ nothing, because I’m doing this because I think I’ve come to the incredibly strange and weird conclusion that I actually care a lot about you health and safety and I really wish I didn’t beat the shit out of you our whole childhood but we both enjoyed it and that’s wrong. _

But Jack does take the short answer, with only mild grumbling, and Bruce helps Jack get to the ambulance. No one says anything as Bruce enters after Jack.

They are silent throughout the first half of the ride, but Jack looks at him like he is seeing him for the first time again, like he used to when they first met, with that strangely adoring look. And Bruce has seen that look many times since then but it feels different now, like this was a new chapter in their story.

It feels dangerous and exciting and horrible all at once, but Bruce doesn’t look away from Jack’s eyes and he still has the bat toy clutched in his hand.

“This is going to be fun.” Jack grins, finally breaking the silence.

Bruce hates that he finds himself agreeing.

  
  
  
  
  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the support this fic has gotten already! 💗🥺
> 
> This is my first chaptered fic, and while I may have no idea what I’m doing I’m having fun and I’m glad other people seem to be interested. 
> 
> Though, I am a bit sorry for the irregular chapter lengths!

They make Jack stay in a hospital room for the night, so that he can rest and they can monitor him to make sure he doesn’t stress his wound. Jack made the wound worse by straining it, and Bruce wouldn’t have known how much pain he should have been in considering he doesn’t really show it.

Bruce also can’t help but notice how offput the doctors and nurses look when Jack laughs and jokes instead of breaking down into tears, a reaction they were likely used to from teenagers. Bruce would have laughed at their reactions if he didn’t feel a growing pit of worry low in his stomach.

Now, after Bruce has been questioned by officers, called Alfred, and has spoken to the nurses, he’s finally able to sit next to Jack in his hospital room. 

Bruce hadn’t told the officers much, and he had played up the distressed, dumb teenager act and they let him go after he muttered out how he and Jack were attacked and had to fight back in self defense. It wasn’t hard for them to believe that someone would try to rob a teenage billionaire, and it seemed that two teenagers were able to fight them off out of dumb luck. 

Then he had called Alfred, reassured him that he was fine, and told him that he probably wouldn’t be coming home that night. Alfred seemed hesitant, but eventually gave in and told Bruce that he’d be at the hospital the next morning to pick him up if Bruce wanted him to. Bruce agreed and hoped that Alfred could feel how appreciative he was through the phone.

And then there are the nurses, who tell Bruce that Jack will be fine with some rest and Bruce sighs. He’s able to visit that night, so he’s led to Jack’s room without a word. 

He thanks the nurse absently and rushes over to Jack faster than he needs to.

Jack’s sitting on his bed picking at his hospital gown and with a look of disgust grumbles, “These things are so ugly, you know. And hospitals are so,” Jack scowls, “horribly dull.”

Bruce sighs, “At least you’re not bleeding anymore.”

Jack looks up at him with an exaggerated pout on his painted lips. Jack had started wearing lipstick sometime during 9th grade and Bruce didn’t want to think about what he thought about it. Jack’s makeup is a bit smudged now, though. His lipstick is smeared down his chin and his mascara has run down his cheeks in black streaks.

With the hospital gown still pinched between his fingers Jack gasps, “My clothes are  _ ruined. _ ” 

“I could buy you new ones.” Bruce says before he can even think about what he’s offering, and he regrets it the moment he sees Jack’s eyes light up.

“Paying for my hospital bills and then buying me new clothes?” Jack tsks, wagging his finger dramatically in Bruce’s face, “What  _ will  _ people say?” Jack’s smile is paired with a look that is unabashedly flirtatious.

Bruce pointedly ignores it, “I’m just trying to be nice.” 

“Nice?” Jack laughs but it’s a harsh noise, “When have you ever cared about being _nice_ to me?” Jack’s smile turns sharper then, more malicious. Bruce seems to have forgotten about the pure malice that sometimes clouds those toxic eyes in the time they’ve been ignoring each other.

“Well, you always make it a bit hard to.” Bruce grits out, and tries not to regret it when it only seems to make Jack’s smile grow.

“Getting angry there, Brucie?” Jack teases, and that’s what makes Bruce take a calming breath.

A year ago, that’s all it would’ve taken, a little provocation and Jack smiling that  _ stupid  _ smile of his, but right now Jack is in a hospital bed and Bruce doesn’t want to punch a kid with a hole in their shoulder.

“No.” Bruce breathes, letting his shoulders relax and desperate for something to divert Jack’s attention says, “I see you’ve dyed your hair.”

Jack’s brows twitch and his smile falls the slightest bit, thrown off by Bruce not immediately getting angrier and Bruce feels a slight bit of victory for that. 

“Yes, I have!” Jack exclaims, eventually going along with the subject change just to have the chance to boast, “Green really is my color, isn’t it, Brucie?” Jack preens, running his hand through his curls.

“Yeah, it looks nice.” Bruce mumbles, going for casual but Jack gives him a look on the side of unfairly analytical. Jack notices a lot more than he should and Bruce purposely holds still and keeps his face blank under Jack’s gaze.

Jack giggles at him, “Oh, I’ve missed you Brucie.” Jack sighs, tacking on a forlorn look to mask the genuine anger Bruce can see brewing in his eyes, “But you had to go and run off with another girl. You really do know how to break a broad’s heart.” Jack sniffs, wiping away tears that aren’t actually there.

Bruce can feel himself becoming annoyed, “Well, you have Harley so I don’t really see the problem.”

Jack’s eyes snap to his and Bruce has to stop himself from flinching. 

“I had to  _ settle _ for Harley because  _ you  _ weren’t there anymore.  _ You  _ stopped, stopped  _ dancing _ , stopped playing the  _ game _ .” Jack seethes.

Bruce scowls back at him, “Well, maybe I got bored.” And that isn’t true, Bruce knows it isn't. But right now he’s angry, angry at Jack for making him feel guilty for  _ not  _ beating the shit out of him everyday. Because Bruce did miss Jack, still does, but Bruce has never been forward with Jack so why would he start doing that now?

“Bored?” Jack scoffs, “You know I can see you staring at me? I bet you’re imaging all the ways you can throw me around in that pretty little head of yours.” Jack leans forward then, seemingly completely uncaring of the fact he’s stressing his shoulder, “Because I  _ know  _ you Bruce. You  _ need _ me.” Jack smiles, mouth full of teeth and his eyes are more black than green with how much his pupil has expanded.

Bruce swallows and he tries to breathe over the lump in his throat, his heart beating so hard in his chest he can feel it in his head. Bruce squeezes the toy in his hand, nearly having forgotten he even still had it.

“You’re going to hurt yourself.” Bruce grits out, unwilling to admit whether Jack is right or not. (He knows he is, but he doesn’t have time to think about that and he doesn’t want to outright admit it).

And Jack stares at him for a moment,  _ studying _ him, before he finally leans back with a smug look on his face. Whatever he saw on Bruce’s face must have satisfied him. 

“ _ If  _ I needed you, then that means you need me, too.” Bruce says, perhaps against his better judgement.

“Of course I do, baby. What would I do without you?” Jack coos, as if he’s talking to a small child. There’s something angry about Jack, though, something still tense in his shoulders, in his face. It makes Bruce feel nervous, somehow.

There’s a few beats of silence then, and Bruce looks down at the bat toy still in his hand. It’s small, hardly bigger than the size of Bruce’s fist, and there are a few drops of blood staining its synthetic fur. Bruce is reminded of the day he became scared of bats, the sound of them screeching as they flew around him, the sound of his father’s voice. 

“Like my gift?” Jack says, his voice high and happy, as if he’s incredibly joyed Bruce is holding something he bought him.

Bruce grinds his teeth together, looking into the beady eyes of the toy so he doesn’t have to look at Jack and says, “Yeah, sure.” 

It fits what Jack would buy him, at least, something he’s afraid of and stained with blood. There’s no mistaking who would think to give him something like this.

“I would have bought you flowers but,” Jack makes a vague gesture, as if it’s supposed to explain it. It brings Bruce’s attention to Jack’s hands, the pink and yellow bandaids around his fingers and across his palms, along with the light green nail polish on his nails.

“And you’re taking me shopping, by the way.” Jack says, and Bruce has the distinct feeling he’s not  _ allowed _ to disagree, “Because if you’re buying me clothes  _ I  _ get to pick them out. I don’t really trust you in buying them, no offense.”

Jack gives Bruce a sweep with his eyes, taking in Bruce’s black jacket, black turtleneck, and black pants.

“You make it work, but it’s not ah, really my taste. On myself, at least.” Jack smirks, and looks at Bruce with barely concealed appreciation.

Bruce frowns and it only serves to make Jack giggle.

“Are you staying the night? Worried about me, darling?” Jack asks, but they don’t really sound like questions, more like observations.

“If you’re not going to be a little bitch all night, then yeah.” Bruce grumbles.

He almost regrets it when Jack stops and stares at him, and he’s about to apologize when Jack lets out a high pitched laugh.

“Did you,” Jack cackles, “Did you just call me a  _ little bitch _ ?” Jack wheezes, seemingly infinitely amused by Bruce.

Bruce smiles, just a  _ little _ , and shakes his head. 

“Okay, Brucie, you can stay. And I’ll be on my  _ best  _ behavior.” Jack winks, and at Bruce’s disbelieving stare he continues, “Scouts honor, baby.” He salutes, giggling to himself.

“You weren’t even a Boy Scout.” Bruce grumbles, but accepts it and goes about making himself comfortable. It’s late, the only light outside being the streetlamps and the moon, and Bruce is  _ exhausted. _ He’s typically tired, spending nights tossing and turning because of nightmares, or his insomnia acts up and he can’t get to sleep, but dealing with an attempted mugging and talking with Jack has really drained him.

The chair is by no means comfortable, though, and no matter how much positioning Bruce does the wood of the chair keeps digging into his back.

Jack watches with a look of amusement for a few moments, and Bruce doesn’t even have to look up; he can  _ feel  _ Jack’s eyes on him, but eventually Jack sighs, a very put upon sound like  _ he’s  _ the one who has to try and fall asleep in a stupid hospital chair.

“Get up here, you brute.” Jack motions to the bed, moving over to make space on the bed that probably isn’t actually big enough to fit Bruce.

Bruce stares, brain trying to come up with an answer he can’t seem to formulate, and Jack groans.

“ _ Men _ .” He mutters distastefully to himself before he says, louder, “Bruce, get in the fucking bed.”

Bruce moves then, completely forgoing a response, and settles in next to Jack. They’re eventually laying face to face with each other, the bat toy in between them as a mockery of a barrier. Bruce can feel the heat coming off of Jack, can smell lemons and chemicals, Jack’s own natural scent. Bruce finds it oddly comforting.

Bruce has never been this close to Jack before, outside of fighting, that is.

He wants to look away, but he can’t. Not when Jack’s eyes are so green, his lips so red, and Jack seems to be looking at Bruce’s face, too, taking in each of his features. It would be easy, to lean forward, to meet Jack’s lips and find out what his lipstick would feel like under Bruce’s lips.

Bruce banishes the thought as soon as it surfaces.

“If I wake up and you’re gone I’ll kill you.” Jack whispers, suddenly. He looks completely serious, and this is one of the times that Bruce remembers that Jack is unfairly strong despite his wiry frame.

“I’m not leaving.” Bruce murmurs, and finds that he means it. 

Jack hums, seemingly satisfied, then presses his face further into his pillow, and promptly moves so close that his legs are pressing up against Bruce’s. Bruce wants to hate himself for not protesting.

“Good night, Bruce.” Jack says, and his voice is softer than it has any right to be.

“Good night, Jack.” Bruce says back, and falls into a blessedly dreamless sleep.

  
  



	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ah I’m sorry that this took so long 😭   
> I hope that it lives up to some of ya’ll’s hopes because it seems like the shopping trip was anticipated and I hope I didn’t screw it up :’’)
> 
> I hope you enjoy though! I also believe this is the longest chapter so far :0

Jack wakes up to a face full of dark hair and the feeling of warm air puffing against his neck. 

Bruce had moved significantly closer over the course of the night, and now he’s lying on top of Jack’s arm and Jack can feel the weight of Bruce’s own arm around his waist, and Bruce’s lips are much closer to Jack’s neck than they have ever been before.

Jack giggles quietly to himself.

He tries to peek down at Bruce’s face but all he can see is the top of Bruce’s head, and even though the arm Bruce is laying on has gone completely numb Jack refuses to move away. It’s nice, Jack thinks, to be so close to Bruce in such a different way. He doesn’t know if he likes it more than Bruce’s fists, but he supposes this will just have to do.

The thought of Bruce’s fists brings Jack’s thoughts to last night. Last night was  _ eventful _ , to say the least. Undeniably fun, though, Jack thinks. Getting shot doesn’t damper the fact that Bruce  _ is paying attention to him again _ . Jack always knew he would come back, eventually, but to have it happen is like fireworks on Christmas.

They didn’t fight, disappointedly, but Jack supposes he can’t have  _ everything _ . He’ll get Bruce to have a go at him, at one point he’s sure, a little prodding, a bit of poking and he’ll have Bruce  _ singing _ . 

But Bruce did seem  _ quieter,  _ last night. He’s never been much of a talker, by all means, more of a  _ doer _ Jack knows, but he was still calmer than Jack was used to. Much less prone to fits of anger, much to Jack’s chagrin. It was annoying. 

But Jack doesn’t let it put a damper on his mood, and he focuses more on the weight of Bruce up against him. He’s gotten bigger, throughout the years, much more muscular. While Jack has only seemed to get taller and even thinner, Bruce has gotten bigger  _ everywhere  _ and Jack isn’t one to deny that he has been peeking during gym class.

Jack hums happily and places a careful hand on Bruce’s head, feeling the thick strands curl around his thin fingers. Bruce has always had thick, dark hair and Jack has thought on more than one occasion of running his hands through it. It’s soft, obviously well taken care of with all of Bruce’s fancy rich boy soaps, Jack is sure.

He wonders if Selina has been in this same position, and  _ that  _ thought makes Jack properly scowl. He wonders if Selina knows just how much Bruce is wrapped around his finger, and certainly not  _ hers.  _ Bruce and he have known each other for years, and Jack isn’t interested in anyone who wants to cut into their little dance. 

Bruce did come back, just like Jack knew he would, and Jack knows he’s going to find great amusement in rubbing  _ that _ in Selina’s face.

Bruce stirs in Jack’s arms then, making a grunting noise before nosing further into Jack’s neck.

Jack can’t stop himself from giggling, “Hmm, darling I would appreciate a proper date first, but I’m willing to skip first base, just for you.”

Bruce makes a confused noise before he lifts his head. Jack can pinpoint the moment he realizes who he’s with and cackles when Bruce scrambles back with eyes as wide as saucers.

Bruce rubs at his face, and even if he tries to look annoyed his eyes are still blurry and his cheeks have marks from the creases of the pillow and Jack’s shirt. 

“Sleep well?” Jack smiles, and Bruce glares at him in all his mussed up, sleepy glory.

“Fine.” He grumbles, and immediately goes to check his phone. Jack takes immense pleasure in the light flush high on Bruce’s cheeks.

“Alfred, my butler, will be here soon to pick me up. He can take you home too?” Bruce offers, looking up at him with an attempt at a smile. 

Jack purses his lips, “Okay.” And Jack tries not to pay attention to the pit of dread he can feel in his stomach, at the thought of his parents seeing Bruce or his expensive car, especially since Jack had been gone all night. The only reason they weren’t called is because Jack isn’t a minor, but he knows that when he gets home they’ll probably kill him.

The plus side is he has a shopping trip with Bruce that he is vehemently going to pressure him into doing.

“Also, shopping trip.” Jack reminds him and bats his eyes innocently, smiling when Bruce frowns at him.

“Yeah, I remember.” Bruce grumbles, scratching behind his ear, and Jack thinks now isn’t the right time to be faced with Bruce’s undeniable beauty when he’s supposed to be angry for being ignored for a good year or so.

Jack sits up and when he puts his hand down on the bed for support his hand closes around Bruce’s bat. It’s squished, Bruce having rolled on top of it in his sleep. 

“You killed him!” Jack gasps, snatching up the toy and watching as it flops over uselessly in his hand. Jack tries to pull the stuffing towards the head, squeezing the bat’s body in an attempt to fix it. It only serves to make his body a lumpy, uneven mess.

“Jack, he’s fine.” Bruce grabs the bat from Jack’s hand, holding it almost posessively to his chest. 

“Oh, so you really  _ do _ like him.” Jack smiles, delighted when Bruce scowls and tries to turn away and hide the flush across his cheeks.

“Alfred’s going to be here soon, and,” Bruce pauses, sitting on the edge of the bed and facing away from Jack, before he sighs, “And I’ll take you to get new clothes this Saturday. 5:00 pm, and  _ don’t _ be late.” 

Jack throws his arms around Bruce’s shoulders even if he can feel the twinge of his wound protesting at the sudden movement.

“Knew I could count on you, Brucie.” Jack laughs, hooking his chin over Bruce’s shoulder to get a look at his face. He can practically feel Bruce’s jaw clench, but he doesn't do anything to push Jack away. Before, Jack wouldn’t be allowed to do this, not be this close without earning a bloody nose, but  _ now  _ Bruce doesn’t do much more than look mildly annoyed.

Jack sees it as a challenge.

“I’m gonna tell Harley all about it.” Jack grins, and Bruce pulls away and stands up, forcing Jack to let go unless he wants to be dragged off the bed.

When Bruce turns around there’s anger in his face, in his eyes, the set of his mouth, but it’s so much quieter than it used to be. It’s more contained, covered and masked, and there’s something in Jack’s chest that  _ burns _ because of it. 

He’s trying to be one of  _ them  _ but Jack knows he’s not.

It feels like the same game but different rules, same dance but different steps. 

And Jack isn’t sure who’s leading anymore.

———

Jack is given a pair of clothes that Alfred had brought for him to change into. Bruce must have asked him for them, and even though it’s a simple sweater and jeans, they smell like Bruce and Jack immediately decides that he’s not giving them back. 

When Jack is done talking with the nurses, absently listening to them as they give him pain killers and directions on how to care for himself, he’s finally able to walk out to Bruce’s car.

It’s expensive, Jack can tell, even if he doesn’t know what type of car it is. 

He whistles lowly, elbowing Bruce teasingly even if he scowls at him, “Sometimes I forget how rich you are Brucie babe.” Jack skips up to the car, dodging the arm he can see Bruce trying to use to grab him.

He peaks in the window, and that’s when Alfred says, “The door’s unlocked, master Jack.”

Jack giggles at the title, “Thanks pops.” He would tell him to simply call him “Jack” but the thought of anyone calling him master is too amusing.

Jack climbs in, and surprisingly Bruce climbs in next to him instead of taking the front seat. Jack makes sure he sits close enough that their thighs brush, just to see if Bruce will do anything about it. He doesn’t.

After Jack tells Alfred his address he looks over at Bruce and notices that he still has the bat he bought him clutched in his fist, and the sight of the blood stains on it’s fur reminds Jack of his knife. 

“My knife got left in that guy.” 

“What?”

“My knife.” Jack pouts, “It got left in that guy’s leg.” Jack waves his hand around, as if it’s supposed to explain to Bruce the amount of stress he’s under.

Jack notices that Alfred looks up in the rear view mirror at them but doesn’t say anything. Jack pretends not to notice. 

Bruce glares at him though, likes he’s said something he wasn’t supposed to. 

Jack raises a brow at him, “You gonna offer to buy me a new one?” Jack grins as he leans in, close enough that he can see the muscles flexing in Bruce’s jaw. 

Jack has more knives at home, hidden around his bedroom, he doesn’t  _ really  _ need a new one, but all the ones he does have are old and probably too dull to be all that useful. He could probably get a pretty, sharp one out of Bruce, and teasing him is too fun to pass up.

Bruce sighs through his nose and pointedly turns his head away from Jack. “Fine.” He grits through his teeth and Jack would question all the things that Bruce is agreeing to if he wasn’t so excited.

“Ah, Brucie you truly are after my heart.” Jack gasps, clutching his chest and leaning back until his head hits the car window behind him.

He watches as the buildings pass them for the rest of the ride, peaking over at Bruce through his curls every once in a while. Bruce doesn’t attempt to start conversation either, and Alfred is silent in the driver’s seat. It’s awkward, probably, or at least it should be. Mostly, Jack just feels bubbly.

But as they approach his apartment building there’s a tightening in his chest that he always feels, burning and tight and uncomfortable. He ignores it, as he always does and forces a grin on his face that stretches almost painfully. 

“It seems we must part ways.” Jack says sadly, sniffling dramatically, “But I’ll see you tomorrow darling.” Jack opens the car door as Alfred comes to a stop.

Bruce turns towards him for the first time since the beginning of the ride, “Goodbye.” 

Jack gets one foot out of the door before he leans back in, placing a kiss to the corner of Bruce’s mouth. He’s out of the car before he can see Bruce’s reaction, but he’s sure he saw a mark from his lipstick left on Bruce’s face and he laughs breathlessly to himself at the thought as he stalks towards his apartment building.

He reaches the door to his parent’s apartment, the number on it hanging off of it and the wood a faded ugly green. He enters quietly and is immediately hit with the smell of alcohol and cigarettes. But he can also hear his father snoring loudly from the armchair, and when Jack walks into the living room his father is leaned against the back of the chair, mouth hanging open and cigarette dangling from his limp fingers. Jack is sure he’s going to start a fire one day, doing that.

He walks quietly by him, and as he passes the kitchen to get to his room he sees his mother at the dining table, her head in her hands and her wiry hair falling out if it’s messy ponytail. She’s sobbing, quietly, her sniffling barely audible over the snoring he can hear coming from his father.

He walks past her. 

He locks his door behind him, and he flops down onto his bed. It makes his shoulder hurt but he ignores it. 

———

How Bruce interacts with Jack while at school doesn’t change much. He still refuses to fight with him, sticks close to Selina, but even then it still  _ feels  _ different. It’s as if everything and nothing has changed, all at the same time. 

Bruce stares at him even more now. Jack can feel his eyes on him when he’s talking to Harley, during lunch, during class, at the end of the day when Jack is walking through the school courtyard to leave. 

It makes Jack even more excited for Saturday.

He tells Harley about his planned trip with Bruce and she smiles at him, sweet and happy and it makes Jack wonder what someone like her is doing in a place like Gotham.

“That’s wonderful, J!” She exclaims, pushing her food tray away and clapping excitedly. 

“Did he like ya’ gift?”

“Yeah, I think so.” Jack smiles, absently pushing the food he never eats around his tray. 

“This is betta than how it was before, innit?” Harley asks, and it sounds suspiciously serious.

It makes Jack freeze, his fork stilling in his hand, and he looks up at Harley sharply. She has a kind smile on her lips, which are painted a deep black, and she looks at Jack like she’s patiently waiting for an answer she might never receive.

_ Is it better? _

Jack can’t answer, and although his knee jerk reaction is to say  _ no, it isn’t better, I’m just settling with it for now,  _ he isn’t sure if that’s even true anymore. Bruce and Jack’s relationship has been solely violent for so long, a release of stress, a game that goes back and forth, a give and take. A dance that only they know the steps to.

Jack hasn’t thought of that ever changing until recently. 

Jack never answers her and Harley doesn’t push. 

———

It’s Saturday soon enough and Jack is putting lipstick on when he receives a text from Harley. 

_ Good luck <3 _

He snorts and turns his phone back off after sending a short  _ thanks _ back. He smooths his shirt down, a tee with a smiley face in the center. He didn’t have much more to throw on than the shirt, worn leather jacket, and ripped jeans he has on but it’d have to do. He laces up his old combat boots and only goes to leave his room when he’s satisfied that he looks good enough to go see Bruce.

He has to sneak past his parents, or at least his father, again. Despite the fact that it typically works, if his father notices he’s gone it never ends well for him. When his father woke up the day he got back from the hospital he thought he was going to rip open the wound on his shoulder. 

He didn’t, somehow, but he did leave Jack with an impressive bruise across his ribs.

His father is asleep, in the same position on the arm chair as he typically is, the TV blaring football. Jack’s at the front door when he hears the sound of his mother’s timid voice.

“Where are you going, Jackie?” She asks, in that faraway, wispy tone of hers. She never sounds like she’s even in the same plane of existence as Jack, as if she’s floating somewhere away from here. 

Jack sometimes wishes he could do that. 

“I’m going to see a friend.” He whispers, despite the fact it’s unlikely that his father will hear him. 

“Oh, be careful, Jackie.” She says, her hands resting on Jack’s arms, her hands feeling no thicker than that of a skeleton’s. “There are bad people out there.” Her eyes focus on Jack’s face for a moment and she smiles, something small and soft, before she zones out again and walks off without another word.

Jack opens the door and makes sure it clicks quietly behind him.

———

Jack walks to the mall, and although getting shot should have taught him a thing or two about walking Gotham’s streets alone, he likes it. Seeing his home like this, being right in the heart of it, feeling the cold air whip at his hair, is always refreshing. Besides, he doesn't even have Bruce’s number yet, so it’s not like he could text Bruce for a ride.

He’s going to have to bully his phone number out of him before their evening is over.

Jack, miraculously, arrives first and is stuck leaning up against a pillar outside as he waits for Bruce. It’s a few minutes till’ five, and Jack talks to Harley to stave off the remaining time. She talks about Ivy and how she’s started growing new plants, and although Jack doesn’t care much he asks her questions about it anyway. 

Ivy lives a few hours away, in a city called Metropolis, which is apparently much prettier and a lot less crime-ridden than Gotham. Harley is always talking about how much she misses her ever since she moved to Gotham, and how even though she was born in Gotham she spent a large portion of her life living in Metropolis.

Jack decides he’d probably hate it there.

Jack glances up at the sound of a revving engine and sees Bruce parking his  _ motorcycle. _

Bruce takes off his helmet and slips off the bike, ruffling his hair in an unfairly attractive way. When Bruce walks closer Jack doesn’t even try to control his smile.

“You never told me you had a motorcycle.”

“You never asked.” Bruce smirks, his lips curling and Jack wishes he’d taken the chance of kissing him fully that day in the car.

“Hungry?” Bruce asks, putting his hands in his pockets and walking forward, expecting Jack to follow.

“Maybe.” Jack purses his lips, falling into step beside Bruce. Bruce isn’t much taller than him, hardly an inch, and yet he still manages to look small compared to the absolute fucking _brick_ _wall_ that Bruce Wayne is. Jack doesn’t know how a high schooler has the time to pack on that much muscle.

“Want a milkshake?” Bruce looks at him like he knows that he’s going to say yes.

“Only if you get me the one with the most whipped cream.” 

“Of course.” Bruce says, and there’s a faint smile tugging at his lips. 

Bruce and Jack walk over to a small restaurant in the mall, and Bruce makes good on his promise when he approaches the table Jack chose out with a milkshake that has about four inches of whipped cream towering above the lip of the cup. 

Jack plucks the cherry from the top and pops it into his mouth immediately. 

Bruce has a much tamer dessert, a small cup that looks like it’s vanilla mixed with chocolate and caramel syrup. 

“How’s your shoulder?” Bruce asks, sipping from his milkshake.

It’s sore, still, but surprisingly not much worse than what he’s used to ignoring, “It’s fine.” Jack says absently, dipping his finger in the whipped cream and licking it off. He’s gratified when Bruce’s eyes follow the motion. 

“You could use a spoon, you know?” Bruce grumbles, looking down at the table instead of at Jack.

He doesn’t respond and waits until Bruce looks up, and smirks, “I know.” And then proceeds to lick more cream off of his finger.

Bruce turns away sharply, sucking harder on his milkshake, and Jack giggles at him. Of course  _ Bruce _ would manage to drink a milkshake angrily. 

They finish up in relative silence, and as much as Bruce might like to pretend he’s not peaking up to watch Jack, Jack notices every time Bruce’s eyes trail towards him even if he pretends he doesn’t.

When Jack finishes Bruce snatches up his cup without a word and throws it away. And then he just continues walking out of the small restaurant and Jack rushes to follow him.

“Rude.” Jack huffs when he catches up to him, and becomes even more annoyed when Bruce has to fight back a smile. 

“I thought you were trying to be  _ nice  _ to me.” Jack sulks, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I only said that because you had just got shot.” Bruce smiles again, and Jack abruptly thinks that he hasn’t seen Bruce smile this much since they were children.

“I’m still injured, you know.”

“But are you bleeding?” 

Jack only glares at him and Bruce laughs, a quiet, low rumble that Jack strangely likes. 

———

They end up going to multiple clothing stores, and Bruce only  _ mildly _ complains when Jack throws shirts or pants he likes on him. Jack even throws in a dress or two for god measure, and although Bruce looks at him questioningly for it he ignores him. Bruce refuses to show him how much he ended up spending, and Jack eventually gives up trying to snatch the receipts from his hand. 

Bruce is carrying the countless bags of Jack’s clothes as they wander around the mall for a little longer. Jack walks into a store he didn’t even catch the name of, but it’s dark and when Jack looks over in the display cases he sees rows and rows of knives.

And then he spots it. A blade sharp and gleaming in the minimal light, the handle a polished gold, and there is a jester engraved at the bottom. Jack wants it.

Jack points at it and looks back up at Bruce expectantly. Bruce stares at Jack for a moment before turning towards the cashier who probably has about ten piercings in their face alone. The cashier places the knife in a case and hands it to Bruce.

As soon as they’re out of the mall Jack goes to grab for it, but Bruce pulls it out of his reach. Jack glares at him but Bruce doesn't seem to be bothered by it. 

“I’ll give you this, on one condition.” Bruce says, and there’s a set in his shoulders, his mouth thinned into a line. Jack knows that he’s not going to be able to annoy Bruce out of whatever he’s about to say. 

“What?” Jack hisses, probably more angrily then he should’ve.

“You asked me what I wanted back for paying for your hospital bills, and considering how I’ve just spent an unspeakable amount of money on you, you can do this  _ one  _ thing for me.”

Jack frowns, because  _ really  _ he should’ve expected this, expected that Bruce wasn’t simply doing all of this because he  _ could.  _ He wanted something out of it, because of  _ course _ he did. 

“ _ What _ , Bruce.” Jack grits, and he can feel his fingers twitching for a weapon he doesn’t have.

“No more fighting.” Bruce says, simply, and Jack freezes. 

“But you like it just as much as I do, darling.” And although the words should sound sweet, Jack’s voice is cold, and it feels raspy in his throat. Jack revels in the barely noticeable shiver he can see pass through Bruce.

“Not anymore.” Bruce shakes his head, as if to get rid of his excess thoughts, “We can’t just… keep doing whatever that was.”

Jack grinds his teeth so hard that he’d be surprised if Bruce couldn’t hear it, “What would have me do, then?”

Bruce opens his mouth, and then closes it, and then opens it again, “We could go back to how it was before.” Bruce says, and his voice doesn’t come out much louder than a whisper.

Bruce doesn’t have to specify, Jack knows what he’s talking about but he still says, “Before what, darling?” And it’s in a tone full of such fake saccharine sweetness that Bruce visibly flinches, fingers flexing nervously over the box that hold Jack’s knife.

Strangely, Bruce looks more nervous talking to Jack than he did when a man had threatened to shoot him.

“Before I hit you.” He whispers, and Bruce looks like he’s ashamed of it, even if that was the best day of Jack’s life.

“Now, why would I want to do that?” Jack asks, and his voice is still light, soft and airy despite the hot, burning anger he feels bubbling up in his chest.

“It could be better.” Bruce says, and Jack hears Harley’s voice, too. 

_ Is it better? _

Jack doesn’t know, and he won’t know if he never tries. 

“Better?” Jack breathes, and he feels vulnerable, his voice softer than he meant for it to sound.

He’s known violence for so long, the feeling of a bruised rib, a busted lip, and that was  _ fine _ . He hasn’t dared imagined what  _ better  _ is supposed to mean in a long time.

“Same game, different rules.” Bruce says, and he’s lowering the box until it’s within Jack’s reach.

“Same dance, different steps.” Jack murmurs back, and he grabs the box. 

“It’ll be better, I promise.” Bruce whispers, and finally lets go of the box, letting Jack have it.

Jack looks down at the box, allowing his nails to drag along the grooves in the wood before he looks back up at Bruce, who is watching with those icy eyes of his. 

“You taking me home, sweetie?” Jack smiles, and even if it feels strained he’s glad that Bruce doesn’t say anything.

“Yeah, sure.” Bruce smiles back, and it’s his own brand, small and gentle and barely there. 

Bruce manages to balance the bags on the bike, and just to save space Jack takes his knife out of its box and slips it into his boot. He throws the box in a random direction, not all that interested in keeping it. He only smiles when Bruce turns to glare at him.

Jack slips on behind Bruce, and wastes no time throwing his arms around Bruce’s waist. 

“Don’t want me falling off.” Jack giggles when Bruce turns around to look at him, his brow raised questioningly. 

Bruce heaves a sigh but puts his helmet on and forces one on Jack’s head before speeding off. It doesn’t take long until Jack’s home, and when he’s stepping off the bike he immediately misses the warmth of Bruce’s back and the feeling of his stomach under his hands.

“That was fun Brucie.” Jack smiles, giving Bruce his helmet back before grabbing random bags off the bike. 

“You want me to help you take all of this in?” He asks innocently, and Jack’s heart stops in his chest painfully.

“No, I’m fine.” Although there is a smile on his face he can feel Bruce’s suspicious eyes drilling holes in the side of his head.

Bruce does relent, eventually, however reluctantly. Jack’s arms are lined with bags by the time he has them all. Jack begins to wonder how he’s supposed to sneak all of this in. 

“Can I have your number?” Bruce asks, suddenly, and when Jack looks at him there’s blush high up on his cheeks. 

Jack smirks, and rattles off his number and Bruce types it into his phone. 

“I’ll text you some time.” He mumbles.

“I hope that you do.” Jack says, and then begins to walk backwards towards his building, “See you soon, Brucie.”

Bruce nods and waves, and Jack watches as he drives out into the road before he begins to properly walk up to his apartment. The bags rustle loudly, and Jack is chewing on his tongue so hard that he can taste blood in his mouth. 

He takes a deep breath before attempting to open the door, trying to make sure it is as quiet and slow as possible. He gets the door shut behind him and listens for any noise inside of the apartment, but is unable to hear anything other than his father’s TV. He takes the pathway through the kitchen instead of going through the living room so he can walk behind his father’s chair instead of in front of it. 

He can see the greying head of his father’s head from where he’s seated straight in the chair, and even if he can tell he is awake he still jumps when he hears his voice.

“Where were you?” His voice is deep and slurred, and Jack can tell that he’s drunk.

“Out.” Jack says, shortly. He inches towards his bedroom, moving subtly even though his father isn't even looking at him.

“Your mother told me you were with a friend.”

Jack swallows, “Yes.”

Jack’s father takes a swig from his beer can, “What’s their name?”

Jack shifts back and forth, but immediately stops when it makes the bags crinkle. He doesn’t want his father to notice what Bruce bought for him.

“Bruce.” Jack mumbles, not seeing any reason in lying.

His father hums, but after a moment the only thing he can hear from his Father is snoring. 

Jack almost runs to his room. 

He puts all of his bags down, and he can feel his pulse in his throat, rabbit quick and loud in his ears. He notices that he gets a new text, his phone vibrating in his pants pocket but he doesn’t check it. 

He locks his door and sinks down into his bed.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are appreciated!


End file.
